Bulletin - 31 July 2002

We had a wonderful fast start to our passage from our Maldive atoll to Oman, shooting out of the nearby pass out of the atoll into the Indian Ocean with a good breeze on the beam (east north east) and making an average of 7 knots during the first few hours.

The routing advice is to allow yourself to stray westwards from the rhumb line (the direct route) at the start of the passage, as the wind tends to blow from the north to begin with and then ease round to the north east.  This advice allows you to sail fast and not too close to the wind for the whole passage.  However the radio sched indicated that boats up ahead were still finding northerlies as they closed the coast of Oman, meaning that they were having a harder sail at the end of the passage. We suppose it is pretty standard cruising tactics to keep upwind as much as one can, on the assumption that one can always free off and have an easier sail later, much easier than the other way round.  So we did not follow the routing advice, but rather tried to stay on or above the rhumb line as much as we could.

 We had quite unsettled weather after our fine start, with lightning visible during the first two nights at sea and rain and cloud for what seemed like days on end.  John noted in the log: “a dirty night, shipping, constant lighting, now rain” and the day after that Helen noted: “only two and a half days out from the (tropical) Maldives and wearing a vest at 1630!”  Other log entries include “storm clouds to port”, “drizzle stopped”, “a lumpy ride and a wet night” – not quite one’s image of Indian Ocean sailing! 

Our fourth night out, during Helen’s watch, the wind rose quite quickly, and she realised rather dozily that the sea was starting to splash well up on deck.  With all the hatches open a little, she started to shut them, foolishly not starting with the one immediately above John’s berth.  A big wave washed over Flame, straight through the partly open hatch and down onto John, asleep below.  He took it amazingly well, (his log entry reads “cold salt water shower for Captain in his berth not recommended!”) but of course, the sheets, blankets and berth cover were soaked (fortunately the wave missed his feather pillow!).  We managed to find a dry and unsalty piece of canvas to lay on top of newspapers on the berth, and luckily had a spare blanket tucked away and he went back to sleep, with Helen feeling very chastened as she was very wary of potential splashes and always found it hard to get off to sleep under the open hatch when there was any sea running. 

We reefed the main, reefed again, and noted that though yachts ahead were reporting north easterlies, we still had no sign of the forecast wind.  With the wind still firmly in the north, we were sailing with the wind at about 60° off the bow - not difficult or uncomfortable, just wet, and much colder than with the wind abeam or from astern.

It seemed that for day after day we listened out to boats ahead of us for signs of the sun appearing up ahead, and it was only as we approached the half way stage (this passage was about 1260 miles) that we began to find it more enjoyable.

The yachts ahead also gave warnings of fishing boats with long lines out – in some cases estimated to be between 5 and 10 miles of line!  Several yachts had become caught in the lines and crews had to go over the side at night to free themselves, which we were very keen to avoid if at all possible!   In the event, we passed three well off to starboard during the night before our half way point with no problems at all.

On our last night at sea, as we closed the coast diagonally, and could just see the loom of the lights of the few towns along the coast off to starboard, and Salalah up ahead, we experienced the same effect.  The slightest light removes it, so that it was much more pronounced when looking to port or astern, making us realise that with a fuller moon (we were just at the beginning of the moon’s new cycle) one would not be able to see it at all. 

 Just before dusk on our last night out, we had spotted a frigate bristling with communications antennae and domes, and, having heard that there had been British frigates in Salalah a few days earlier, called her on the radio, from sheer curiosity.  It was a French frigate, fairly friendly and asking if we required any assistance.  Flame’s skipper suggested that we should have asked for a case or two of Chateau Latour ’45 … or ’90 would have done for medicinal purposes. 

We had heard that the US Navy will not respond at all when called, even by American yachts, who were very impressed by the friendly response they invariably received from the Royal Navy!  By now, the rumour mill concerning the piracy threat in the Gulf of Aden was working overtime, and reports were coming in thick and fast of all the navies that were patrolling the area ... the British, the Americans, the French, 10 German ships, etc.  Interestingly, the French frigate was reassuring about the piracy threat between Salalah and Aden, which had been the main problem area during the previous couple of years.

Later on, a frequent but irregular thudding caused us alarm again, coming as it seemed to from Cecile’s steering oar.  This time, John peered over the stern with a torch, and could hardly believe what he saw – the clunks, which on occasion reverberated through the entire hull, and were clearly audible up in the bow 30 feet away, were large jelly fish banging into the oar!  We couldn’t decide if the clunks were the sound of them groaning or just the sound of the contact, but there must have been a lot of sore heads around, from which you will realise that the ea was absolutely full of jelly fish, of all sizes, whose only predator seems to be turtle.  Later when we asked other yachts if they had had the same problem, our friends on Vagabond were delighted – they had come to the same conclusion about problems with their steering gear and were contemplating a time-consuming overhaul to check it out thoroughly.

We arrived at the Mina Raysut, harbour for Salalah, at about 9 am the following morning, and, after receiving permission to enter, with some difficulty found a spot to anchor in the small part of the harbour shallow enough for yachts.  Clearing in here was as smooth as in the Maldives, though one is not given a full visa, merely a shore pass, like professional seamen.  Since Thursday afternoon is the start of the local weekend, we decided to stay on board and do all the small boat jobs that always accumulate on a passage. 

The southern region of Dhofar has been famous since ancient times for its frankincense production – frankincense is a resin harvested from the bark of the gnarled trees that grow in the foothills around Salalah and along the coast towards Yemen.  In the Old Souk, it was for sale in various different grades, and it was widely used – for example the car hire office always seemed to have some burning – as well as being reserved for ceremonial purposes.

Apart from the buildings, the people’s dress made it plain we were in Arabia.  In town many Omani men wore beautifully laundered long white or pastel gowns, generally unadorned except for simple embroidery around the neck opening which ended in a small tassel, and a small beautifully embroidered cap.  The women wore black “burqas” and often but not always had their faces completely covered.  We formed the impression that purdah was most adhered to by the town-living middle classes, as one saw country women in the villages and in the market with their produce, with their faces exposed, wearing brightly coloured dresses, and often sporting a substantial nose ring, which was worn vertically.  The clothing shops in the market revealed that under the black, women wear trousers with very tight-fitting calves and ankles, which are beautifully decorated - embroidered and quilted in bright colours, and just occasionally, generally out of Salalah, we saw a flash of them under a dress.  

Although men’s hairdressers seem to occur every third shop, it was quite hard to find women’s hairdressers, which tended to be tucked away down side streets with blacked-out windows.  One had to ring the doorbell for admittance, since inside, veils were not worn, and men were definitely not allowed in.  Once inside though, women having assorted beauty treatments were accorded very much less privacy than they would have in England, and there was a distinct feeling of female camaraderie.  After her haircut though, Helen felt she should have waited until arriving in a country where women’s hair is publicly on display.

 Omani restaurants also have separate cubicles for women and families to eat in – a couple can eat together in one, but two couples or more would separate and the women would eat separately from the men.  In the restaurant we ate at however, male waiters attended the cubicles and we also noticed male assistants in the women’s clothes shops.

We came back through the “green” foothills and here saw plenty of cattle apparently grazing, though it was hard to see what they found to eat, though there was a cattlefeed company with spectacularly verdant fields just outside the centre of Salalah and we occasionally saw one of their trucks on the road.  The hills were criss-crossed with goat and camel tracks and many more goats were apparent.  All the trees had a well-trimmed appearance – no branches or even twigs came down below camel grazing height.  Here, the men dressed quite differently from in town, wearing calf length sarongs, jackets, a checked head scarf, and invariably a rifle slung over the shoulder.  Two such men flagged us down one after another as we drove through tiny hamlets and asked for a lift – sadly our Arabic was not up to taking advantage of the time it took to deliver them!

The Muslim feast of Eid al-Adha, which is the celebration of the annual pilgrimage to Mecca, occurred at the end of our stay.  We observed that the women started to appear with beautiful decorations on their hands – made from henna and painted on in lovely delicate patterns – in honour of the festival. 

As they came closer and approached our starboard bow he could see that each had a dark-jacketed man standing in the bow.  Two went straight past us, heading on out to sea, and one turned to come along our port side.  The boat slowed, John waved, as one normally does to passing boats, and they did not reciprocate, but resumed their previous speed and course, following the others.  There was no sign of any arms, but equally, there was no fishing equipment visible; they appeared not to have any wet weather – or any gear at all on board – and the boats were capable of travelling at 15 –20 knots in the flat sea.

We heaved a sigh of relief, tried and failed to contact “our” group by VHF radio and then carried on getting the spinnaker up.  Later it transpired that the group, closer in to the Yemeni coast than us, had been visited, almost certainly by the same people, who had stopped and asked for food and cigarettes, and variously been given bread, biscuits and the odd packet of cigarettes.  No attempt had been made to board any of the yachts and nothing else was demanded.

Later that afternoon we were overflown by a military helicopter, which was generally reckoned to be French, but which made no attempt to contact anyone.  Just before dusk, a swell came in which knocked the very light wind out of the spinnaker, so down it came, and on with the engine again.  The moon was full at this time, so we had no sign of the milky sea again, but it gave us pleasant conditions for our stringent watchkeeping.  There was some shipping heading to and from the entrance to the Red Sea but all seemed to go well clear.

Despite a forecast of more wind, the following day saw a similar pattern – spinnaker up, though no unwonted small boats, overflown this time by a small propeller driven plane from the French Navy, and then being overtaken by RFA Bayleaf, on which we had attended a drinks party in Salalah on our first night.  We called them on the radio and were delighted to find that Adam, the navigating officer, who had come back to Flame for a drink, was on watch and was brought to the radio.  After they had passed us, we got the spinnaker down as the wind started to rise slightly and we had a good sail overnight with the genoa poled out to catch the wind from behind.  This time the wind stayed and we had good sailing for two more days to Aden.  The French plane came over again, jelly fish started to bat the steering oar again, and during our last night the sea responded to the increased wind and we had quite a roll-y sail in towards Aden.  We had a struggle to reach harbour before dark, (yachts are permitted to enter after dark) as the wind suddenly stopped, leaving us with a big sea, but we got in just in time, to be welcomed by Simon and Sarah off Vagabond, with some fresh bread.

They had spent several days in Aden already and the following day came over to brief us on what they had enjoyed.  And despite the exceptionally dilapidated state of Aden, in particularly strong contrast with smart modern Salalah, there was much to enjoy.  Everyone was very friendly, delighted to see tourists (the Yemen was one of only two countries on the Foreign Office list of where not to go), and particularly pleased to welcome British visitors.

The people were dressed much as the country people were in Oman, in short sarongs, often edged with tassles, and held up with a wide belt on which hung a purse, sometimes a mobile phone, and surprisingly often a jambiya, the Yemeni version of the curved knife we saw in Oman (Oman_and_Yemen_33).  Scarves were the most frequent headgear, worn in a wide variety of ways, and many men had their hair and their beards dyed a bright shade of orange.
 

But it was very interesting to drive out of Aden across the sand dunes at the base of the peninsula and up into the stark mountains.  As we became used to the scenery it was clear that there were small villages many miles from the excellent road, and though power pylons threaded alongside the road, there was no sign of any cables heading for the villages.  Out here, we saw women dressed much more colourfully, tending flocks of goats and carrying brushwood and even in the public markets in Ta’izz, though here they were still veiled. 

Ta’izz is spectacularly sited on a steep hillside and we would have been pleased to spend more time there.  There are several famous old mosques.  In this 13^th century one we were positively welcomed by young from the school, shown around and introduced to the imam  who unlocked the prayer hall and allowed us to look inside from the doorway (Yemen is known to be conservative in allowing infidels into mosques).  The beautiful carving  was in poor state of repair, the plasterwork inside the dome was falling off, revealing the thin brick structure underneath, and it altogether put into context the struggle we have at home to maintain our churches.  One of the pupils told us at the end of the visit that we should give money to the imam, but there didn’t appear to be any sort of restoration fund to which tourists could contribute.  Perhaps that was happened to the imam’s money.  Suddenly it seemed that the visit was over and we were whisked outside again, and seconds later when the muezzin began the mid afternoon call to prayer, we realised why.

Many of the houses in Ta’izz were built in a most attractive style (Oman_and_Yemen_35) and seemed much better looked after than those in Aden – less fighting up here will have helped.  The markets were colourful and colourfully peopled (Oman_and_Yemen_42 and _43) and we were very pleased that our permission had been granted, even though it had taken quite a chunk out of the day.  We had to show our papers at three checkpoints both on the way up and back and in the end concluded that the process was probably intended to be for our benefit and safety.

Back in Aden a number of motorised fishing dhows had come into the harbour – some of these are said to have been involved in raids on yachts and we felt relieved again, not least at avoiding the damage such a boat alongside could cause us.

Before we left Aden, we made a visit to the Sailor’s Club for dinner with the crews from the other yachts in the group from Salalah.  It was clearly a popular venue for locals too, although they came later, to smoke a hubble bubble pipe and occasionally to dance.  A rather unattractive, bored looking woman, wearing a tight black T-shirt and short skirt was working round the tables, jiggling until she was paid – sometimes paid to go away, it seemed.  There were tables of women as well as men – some had shed their black cloaks and were dressed in tight trousers and t-shirts with cleavages showing, but there were several tables of women still veiled and still wearing gloves, and now and again they would get up to dance together.  The women were smoking pipes too, and there seemed to be one surreptitious rendezvous under way between a man and woman sitting at adjacent tables and each smoking a pipe.

It was interesting to see that the restrictive clothes were not necessarily preventing them from getting out … and later we heard a report of a fully veiled woman on a wet bike, with veil and cloak streaming out behind her.  Just before midnight (the curfew for yachtsmen, when we had to return our shore passes to the harbour immigration authorities and retrieve our passports) things livened up and a very skilful belly dancer appeared.  We paused to watch her for a short while, and left the locals to it – the music carried on till 4 in the morning – and we decided that the curfew had been set with the Sailor’s Club in mind!

After several days in Aden, we decided that we must tackle the Red Sea and set off late one morning with the intention of arriving at the entrance to the Red Sea – the Bab el Mandeb – at dawn the following day.

John & Helen Fleming
Flame of Gosport
31 July 2002